


alone (together) again

by megmegly



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:30:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1715600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megmegly/pseuds/megmegly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's been four years okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	alone (together) again

**Author's Note:**

> un beta'd etc, lili gave me a super prompt and then i completely ignored it.

They’re making out, right? Hot and fucking heavy, Pete’s shirt long since discarded on the floor and Patrick’s tongue flicking it’s way down across his collar bone and down his chest, stopping for a moment to tease one of Pete’s hard nipples before trailing slowly further and further down towards the ridge of his belt, the bulge in his jeans. And Pete had been so _into it_ \- arching and keening, listening to the tiny hitches in Patrick’s breath every time he pressed himself upwards, trying to grind on anything he could reach, grinning whenever he felt Patrick grip him a little harder at the hip to hold him down. It had been a reflex. He’d reached down, scrabbling for something to sink his hands into, aiming to grab hair but misjudging and coming up with fistfuls of t-shirt. He’d yanked at in anyway - pure desperation in motion – and suddenly Patrick was up. Gone, across the room. Visibly panicking, eyes darting to Pete and then around the room and back to Pete again as he compulsively smoothed his shirt over his trembling body.

“Trick? I-“ 

Pete had managed to get out before Patrick cut him off with a mumbled “Sorry… I just-” before hightailing it out the door and upstairs, where Pete heard him pull the bathroom door closed with a heavy thud, the metallic squeaking of the old deadbolt that his mother keeps telling him that he needs to replace and he _will_ , just not right now Mom - they’re _recording_ , he’ll find the time later. He doesn’t understand what happened. It was so good, Patrick had seemed totally into it and all the worries - was it too soon? Too risky? Too _different_ this time around? -that had plagued Pete since Patrick had walked into the studio fresh off the back of his Soul Punk tour, so confident and happy and shiny and new and yet still _Patrick_ , had been blasted clean away the moment their eyes had met across the kitchen that first night when they’d both stayed late, so keen to get moving on the new album and so eager to be around eachother some more after such a long time apart. They’d been making coffee and working through lyrics. Pete is always writing, always putting words to paper in the ways he knows Patrick likes to sing them, always has done right from the very beginning and now they had four years worth of musings to consider. It was a line he’d written just after they announced the hiatus. When he was still raw; wounds open and red and sore, and he’d been drowning in pills and watching shitty pay-per-view movies when something leapt out at him and he’d scribbled it down. Patrick had looked at the battered notepad and paused, biting his lip like he always did when he needed to say something but didn’t know how to and Pete had watched him squirm, had learned the hard way that the only way he’d get to hear it was if he kept quiet and let Patrick get there on his own.

“You know it’s over when the person you’d take a bullet for has their finger on the trigger.”

_oh._

“Oh. Um.”

Patrick had blinked and looked away. “I like it, it’s good. Really good Pete, honestly. I just-“ He’d stopped. “I wondered..” He’d paused again. Waited. Couldn’t meet Pete’s eyes, and then Pete had known exactly what he’d wanted to ask. He’d known the answer too, but it hadn’t been one that he was ready to share just yet, hadn’t been one he was sure Patrick was ready to hear either and as Patrick slowly opened his mouth to rephrase again he’d interrupted as gently as he could.

“Please don’t ask me. Not… not yet.” 

And Patrick had nodded. Had understood completely – no surprises there, he’d always been able to read Peter better than Pete could himself – and had finally raised his head to meet Pete’s gaze again. It was then that Pete had known that he’d been worrying for nothing. They were still the same. Sure they looked a little different, a little rougher maybe in Pete’s case, but underneath there was still that unspoken link, that irrevocable _connection_ that had bound them together as peteandpatrick for so long and that even the four long years that had pushed them further and further apart couldn’t really damage. They weren’t the same. Not exactly like they were. Secretly, Pete isn’t sure they ever can be. But he remembers thinking to himself then and there that maybe one day they might be _peteandpatrick_ again.

It’d been so easy after that. Once Pete had started to let it happen it all sort of just flowed into itself and over him in a wave of _finally_ and suddenly here they were all over again - he and Patrick against the world - and Pete had known that once they were sharing eachothers thoughts again it would only be a matter of time before they were sharing eachothers beds. It happened just like it happened before, only this time the three years worth of pining they crammed into a much more merciful but still seemingly endless three months until one day - _to_ day in fact, they’d been sitting on Pete’s couch watching reruns of Hell’s Kitchen (Patrick seriously fucking _loves_ that guy, Pete’s getting a little concerned) and Patrick had been giggling as some guy fucking butchered a cheesecake and Pete had been getting warmer and warmer, couldn’t stop watching the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and how he bit his lip to keep from laughing and suddenly he was just _done_ okay, he _couldn’t take it anymore_ , that was fucking _it_ and he’d surged upwards and over until his lips finally, _finally_ made contact with Patrick’s and he’d moaned blissfully, uncontrollably, deep into his mouth. He’d swallowed Patrick’s squeak of surprise, melted under the caress of Patrick’s fingers as the sprang to his cheeks and it wasn’t until he’d felt Patrick sigh into the kiss that he remembered where the were, _who_ the were and he’d jumped back, hands over his face, a waterfall of apologies tumbling out of his mouth and left hanging in the air as Patrick had just looked back at him incredulously.

“I’m sorry, god I’m so sorry, I just miss you Patrick - I miss you so much every day and I just-“ Patrick had pressed his hand to Pete’s mouth to silence him in a gesture he’d perfected so many years ago. Pete had gone still, couldn’t look up, so sure of himself but so wary of Patrick, this new-but-still Patrick who he still didn’t quite know yet, couldn’t quite read and so he waited, held his breath as he felt Patrick’s gaze rake over him in a continuous, burning streak.

“Why the fuck did you stop?”

And Pete had nearly cried, it felt so good to hear that Patrick still wanted him, even now, even after everything, and he’d flung himself back on top of him and wormed his way as close as he could until everything was Patrick and nothing could ever be wrong again.

But then all of a sudden something had happened. Patrick had fled, and now all Pete can do it gaze up the stairs after him as wonder what the fuck he did this time.

_fuck._

Okay so he has two options. Firstly, he could sit here and wait for Patrick to come back downstairs. Years of experience tell him that Patrick is probably not going to come back downstairs for a long time, if at all, this evening, and Pete knows that the longer he lets him stew over something the more worked up he’ll get. Patrick is not an overthinker the way Pete is, he knows his own mind and he’s happy in himself and so for something to affect Patrick so much in such a short space time it has to have been really fucking bad. It makes Pete shiver to consider what could possibly have gone through Patrick’s mind to shake him so much, and this tells him that the only real option is option two – to follow Patrick up the stairs.

He gets up slowly and puts his shirt back on, before muting the and padding, barefoot as he is, out across the cold tile of the kitchen towards the staircase, pausing to fill the kettle Patrick had forced him to buy and settling it to boil on the aga his mom had forced him to buy and grabbing the huge jar of nutella off of the top pantry shelf and two teaspoons from the cutlery draw. He knows how to be prepared for a Patrick crisis. He calls softly up the stairs to let Patrick know he’s coming up, half hoping he’ll come out smiling and with an easy answer to all of Pete’s questions but of course no such luck, and so Pete climbs the stairs and settles in the soft white fur of the thick, fluffy rug that Andy _hates_ which runs the length of the upstairs landing.

“Trick? Are you..?” He knocks softly on the door, not sure what he means to say but knowing that he needs to say _something_ , needs to let Patrick know he’s there and he listening.

“Please don’t ask me, Pete.” It doesn’t sound like a request - the tone is too off, so unlike Patrick that Pete is a little taken aback. It stings a little to have his words thrown back at him.

“What… What did I do, Trick?” He tries again, trying to hide the note of hurt that wants to creep into his voice.

“Just leave me alone, Pete.” Patrick’s voice is harsh now, forced – Pete can imagine the expression on his face, has seen it countless times before but never directed at _him_ … “Seriously just fuck off. Go away.”

“Patrick!” Pete almost chokes. He’s so confused, doesn’t understand at all what it is that’s taken hold of the Patrick of just a few minutes ago and turned him so bitter, so mean, and he can the feel hot tears prickling at the corners of his eyes – it’s so stupid, his tear ducts are wired to every emotion he has and he can’t control them at all – and he’s can conceal the hitching, gasping sob that escapes his lips and licks against the old wooden door.  
“Pete…” There’s a scrambling and a creaking and suddenly the door is open and a tearstained Patrick has his arm around Pete’s shoulders and now Pete is even more confused than ever and another sob heaves its way out of his chest. 

“Don’t cry Pete, it’s okay… I’m sorry… I just.” He looks sheepish, and concerned, and deeply, truly sad all at once and Pete _doesn’t want to deal with this right now._ One minute they’re watching Chef Ramsay be a little bitch, the next they’re as close as they’ve ever been and he can’t fucking believe that they were ever apart and now he’s shocked, hurt, can feel the blade of Patrick’s words still twisting in his breast and he just wants to curl up into a little ball of nothing and fade away.

He’s rocking, he can feel himself and he cant stop and he’s reminded of a scene four years ago almost identical to this one only with a lot more blood. They both cried then too, and Patrick held Pete exactly like this only that time Pete knew exactly what was going on and exactly how he could fade away.

He takes a deep breath and centres himself. It’s been four years. He’s better, _so much better_ , and he needs to climb out of this eternal pit of self loathing he’s got going on and focus on Patrick. Patrick _needs_ him.

“What happened?” He’s amazed at how steady his voice is. Patrick grips him tightly for a moment – Pete relishes in the contact – before shifting over so that’s they’re facing eachother, legs intertwined with eachother in the soft plush of the rug.

“I.. uh.” He begins, looking down. He’s clearly choosing his words carefully, so typically Patrick, and Pete almost has to laugh. If it were him he’d be gushing like a fountain. Patrick looks up, meets his eyes and smiles weakly. “I’m not sure, really.” He clears his throat. “I just. When you went for my shirt, it just-“ 

Pete’s still as confused as ever, not sure where Patrick’s going at all but desperate to keep up.

Patrick takes a deep breath. “I didn’t want you to see me.”

_what_

“what?”

There’s the weak smile again. “I’m not… I don’t… I’m different, now. I _look_ different.” He reaches out gingerly and takes Pete’s hand in his, turn it palm up and begins to trace the lines. “Four years is a long time”

Pete is so frustrated he almost can’t speak, he just doesn’t get what the hell Patrick is talking about and he hates it.

“You look…” He pauses, trying to measure his words in the way Patrick does so well, “like Patrick?”

Patrick laughs, watery but clearly and it’s like music to Pete’s ears. “You never change!” He uses the sleeve of his jumper to dab at the wet patches under Pete’s eyes and on his cheeks. His face is softening but his eyes are still sad. “But I lost 60 pounds Pete. I just… I’m not really me anymore.”

Pete doesn’t get it. Okay so he’s a little smaller that he was four years ago but like... so what? Pete’s more toned than he’s ever been but he’s still _him_ and Patrick is still Patrick and seriously what the fuck?

His struggle to process this is clearly plastered across his face because Patrick drops his hands and lifts his jumps clad fingers to cup Pete’s face and shushes him gently.

“What I mean is, I’m not them me I was before. With you. I guess I thought…” He drops his hands. Clasps them in his lap and focuses intently on them. “I know I’m not the me that you were in love with before... everything. I can’t be that me anymore. And I didn’t know if you’d still be in love with the me that I am now… Does that make sense?”

He’s looking up, hoping for an answer, any sort of acknowledgement but Pete can only give him a blank stare. Seriously, _what the fuck?_

“ _Fuck_ ” Patrick is frustrated. “I guess.” He wipes his had across his eyes and pete catches it, hold is still, leans up so he can meet Patrick’s gaze full on and _try_ to understand. “I guess I didn’t want to you see me.” Suddenly he’s talking like he never plans to stop. “I didn’t want you to see me and realise we’re not us anymore and that you don’t want me and you don’t love me because I’m not fat anymore,” Pete presses his hand against Patrick’s mouth. It’s a strange reversal of roles. He’s finally processing.

“You’re saying…” He says slowly, deliberately, still a little bewildered. “You’re saying you thought I wouldn’t want you because you’re not fat anymore?”

“Well…” Patrick looks down. “I guess so.”

“Trick” Pete’s trying not to giggle “That’s ridiculous!”

“It’s not!” Patrick looks up defensively. “I’m not fat Patrick that write your music and you can come back to whenever you want because I’m always here for you when you’re sick of whoever else you’ve been with because that isn’t me Pete, that isn’t me anymore and I _know_ that isn’t you anymore but I just… I didn’t want… I couldn’t risk-“ 

He draws a shuddering breath.

”I’m not… I can’t be your fall back anymore Pete. I deserve more. I can see that now I guess. I didn’t before. I couldn’t. All I could see was you.” And shit Pete is a fucking terrible person. Patrick is right. Of course he is. Four years ago they went their separate ways because Patrick said he needed to be alone and Pete finally understands why. Fuck. _Fuck._ How the hell could Patrick have been feeling all of this without him knowing? How could he have been so blind? Even through the depression, the pills, the booze, the constant battle of self loathing, he thought he knew Patrick better than that, thought he knew him inside out. How the fuck did he miss this?

 

He’s fucking mortified. He doesn’t know where to look, cant meet Patrick’s eyes but desperate to let him know that he understands, to communicate with every fibre of his being how sorry his is.

“Patrick… I-“ He starts, chokes, falters.

“It’s okay.” Patrick is looking at him. _Really_ looking at him and Pete thinks he gets it. “We’re okay.”

“You were never my fall back.” Pete needs to tell him. Patrick opens his mouth to speak but Pete keeps going. “You were so good. Too good. Too good for me. ”He scrubs his pace with his hands. “I thought that if I left you alone you’d find someone who deserved you. But you never did, and I couldn’t stay away. I wanted you so much Trick, you were all I thought about. All the time. But I wanted you to be happy even more, and I never thought that you could be with me.”

There are fresh tears at Patrick’s eyes, threatening to overflow and spill down his cheeks. “You’re so stupid Pete!” He falls forwards and rests his forehead against Pete’s, eyes closed but tears still streaming – mingling with those tumbling down Pete’s own cheeks. “So fucking stupid!”

“S-sorry” Pete chokes out, but then they’re kissing again, and it’s kind of wet and it tastes salty but he’s missed Patrick so much, every day since that day in the hospital four years ago when Patrick had said he had to go away for a while till the day when he knocked on Pete’s door with his fucking stupid adorable smile and asked Pete if he was ready to start again.

They fall asleep like that, curled up on the rug on the top of the stairs and when they wake up, in the early hours of the morning with moonlight filtering through the open window and the soft trundle of traffic far off in the distance they lose themselves in eachother. Pete strips himself and then Patrick lets him undress him – slowly- taking in the new body, marvelling the new lines and curves and the fresh taughtness of skin which isn’t and _is_ all at the same time and gazing in wonder at how fucking beautiful Patrick is, has always been and always will be no matter what he looks like. It’s slow and deliberate at first, remembering eachother and exploring the new but suddenly it’s as if the weight of the world lifts, the four years of separation and hurt and longing and _please_ all come together and the can’t stop, can’t take their time, don’t _want_ to and they’re lost, consumed in eachother – Patrick rising in time to meet every one of Pete’s thrusts and they come together, grasping and panting and trembling against eachother in the rush of heat and light and air that only comes when everything is perfect. Pete pulls out and pulls Patrick on top of him for the first time, buries his face in Patrick’s hair and breathes in the smell of him.

“You’re my Patrick” He whispers into the darkness, and he knows it’s true. They’re peteandpatrick. They always will be. He feels Patrick shift a little, turn to plant a kiss on Pete’s damp forehead.

“I always have been.”


End file.
